How the Men of 'Glory' Stood Up to the U.S. Government

The movie ended with a climactic battle scene. But the all-black regiment went on to fight unjust payment policies -- and won.

Tristar Pictures

Since 1989 nothing has had more influence on our
understanding of the men who served in the Civil War's "colored" regiments than
the movie Glory, starring Matthew Broderick, who played
Colonel Robert G. Shaw alongside a supporting cast including Morgan Freeman and
Denzel Washington. The movie focused
on the 54th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry, which constituted the first
all-black regiment raised in early 1863.

Glory's popularity emerged from its willingness
to tackle unsettling issues such as the discrimination and racism that black
soldiers faced from within the military and from their own government. The movie's
climax, involving the unit's failed attack at Battery Wagner in July 1863, depicted
their final victory over adversity and their collective sacrifice around the
flag. The final scene of Shaw being buried with his shoeless men
juxtaposed against Augustus Saint-Gaudens' beautiful monument to the regiment, located
on Beacon Street across from the Massachusetts State House, left the audience
with feelings of national pride and a sense that the men did indeed triumph
over racism within the ranks in a war that brought about Confederate defeat,
the preservation of the Union and a "new birth of freedom."

While Glory
introduced the general public to a crucial aspect of the Civil War that had
long been ignored, it did so selectively by ending the story of the 54th
midway through the war. In doing this,
the movie steered clear of the challenges the regiment continued to face, not just
on the battlefield at the hands of angry Confederates, who refused to treat
them as soldiers, but from their own government as well.

The soldiers of the 54th
spent much of the remainder of the war protesting the United States government and
a policy that paid black men $10 per month (as compared to white soldiers' $13). This discriminatory practice was briefly
acknowledged in a scene in Glory that
depicted Colonel Shaw joining his men in protest by tearing up their pay
vouchers. The issue was then
dropped, and in light of their bravery displayed at Battery Wagner, most
viewers probably assumed the policy was discontinued.

It was not. Over the course of the next year, the soldiers of the 54th and
55th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry, along with many of their white
officers, refused to accept the Lincoln administration's unequal pay. In a letter to the president, Corporal
James Henry Gooding asked, "Are we Soldiers, or are we Labourers?" He went on to remind Lincoln that his
comrades "have conducted ourselves to the complete satisfaction of General
Officers" and played a role in "reducing the first stronghold that flaunted a
Traitor Flag" and "have dyed the ground with blood, in defense of the Union,
and Democracy." The hardships
associated with low pay were felt not only in camp but across the North, as the
families of these men worked desperately to make ends meet. Even Massachusetts Governor John
Andrew's offer in December 1863 to pay the $3 difference out of state funds was
met with a stern refusal.

The situation continued to deteriorate in early 1864,
especially within companies whose officers joined the regiment following the
assault at Wagner and did not share the antislavery zeal of their
predecessors. Prior to the failed
battle at Olustee, Florida, in February, Colonel Edward N. Hallowell of the 54th
received an anonymous letter threatening that his men would refuse to fight if
not immediately awarded equal pay. Rumblings from others could be heard throughout the camp at this time. During
the regiment's evacuation of Florida on April 17, a group plotted to seize the
troop transport Cosmpolitan and steam
to New York. A firm hand on the
part of Hallowell averted a mutiny, but discontent persisted.

A similar chain of events transpired in the 55th
Massachusetts, in the form of anonymous letters to its commander, Colonel Alfred
S. Hartwell, and a steady stream of letters sent to black newspapers back home
that detailed their hardships. In
response to a refusal on the part of 120 men to take up positions on a picket
line, Hartwell threatened that anyone who disobeyed would be court-martialed
and shot. One soldier was ultimately
bucked and gagged. In April, 75
men from the 55th flirted with open mutiny by appealing to the
president for immediate action.

The first soldier executed in the 55th
Massachusetts over the pay crisis was Private Wallace Baker, who on May 1 fell
in for inspection without his weapon and equipment. Baker's insubordination continued as he refused an order to
return to his tent and then struck his commander twice in the face. Baker's trial commenced on June 16 and
two days later was executed in front of the entire regiment. A similar situation occurred during an
inspection of Co. B of the 54th. After six men refused to fall in, the company's lieutenant
shot one man in the chest. One
week later, an officer in Co. H shot another man for disobeying orders, while a
detachment from another company refused guard duty. Colonel Hallowell threatened these men with a bullet to the
head if they refused to stand down.

A few days following the execution of Private Baker, and
with the help of supporters in Massachusetts and the nation's capital, Congress
finally adopted legislation authorizing equal pay retroactive to January 1,
1864. The timing of this was
almost one year after the 54th's famous assault outside Charleston,
South Carolina, which Glory so
powerfully extols as its greatest achievement.

The popular images of the men of the 54th Massachusetts
bravely assaulting Battery Wagner are an important part of our understanding of
the outcome of the Civil War. Their legacy in helping to defeat a government that would have left
millions of black Americans in bondage is secured. But when we consider the larger picture, a very different and
unsettling legacy emerges in contrast to Glory's
self-congratulatory narrative. The
war against the Confederacy lasted four years. But their battle against the
discriminatory policies of the United States occupies a place in a much larger
narrative that stretches through the Civil Rights movement to each of us as we
continue to work toward a more perfect Union.

We want to hear what you think about this article. Submit a letter to the editor or write to letters@theatlantic.com.

Kevin M. Levin is a historian based in Boston. He is the author of Remembering the Battle of the Crater: War as Murder.